


Farewell, My Dear Detective

by SkylaDoragono



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crime Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 16:12:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10925373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkylaDoragono/pseuds/SkylaDoragono
Summary: After a freak accident destroys Viktor's ice skating career, he tries desperately to lead his life the best way he can.  It isn't until a chance encounter with a thief going by the name of Eros does he finally feel alive again.  Loosely inspired bySomachos'Phantom Thief Eros AU.





	1. Prologue

Viktor Nikiforov was fifteen, and in the worst pain of his life. 

His senior figure skating debut was supposed to be a thing of legend, something that people would be talking about the world over for months, and he would only get better and better as time progressed. But no; he had to be denied by a man too drunk to even realize he was on a motorcycle, not to mention the fact that he collided with an innocent kid. He could hear his coach yelling, but it was different from his usual stern barking. There was panic in his voice as he yelled at people he couldn't see, before Viktor felt his hands on his shoulder, desperately trying to make sure he was all right. 

"Vitya! Are you okay?! Answer me!"

But Viktor could not, only managing a groan of pain to signify he was alive. Everything hurt far too much for him to process words coming out of his mouth. It felt like forever before there were more hands on him, checking to make sure he was alive, to make sure he was alert, before he felt himself lifted and placed on something hard. Straps came around him next, keeping him still as he was loaded into an ambulance next, and he was dimly aware of the sounds of camera flashes following behind him as the doors closed, locking him away from reporters. 

He knew already what would come next; he did not even need to see the doctor to know his career was done. He was already intimately aware of the feel of his leg twisted at an odd angle, the other not fairing much better. The news would be all over the Internet before the day was over and plastered on every paper the next morning. He could already picture the thousands of fans he had already being crushed by the news, and he squeezed his eyes closed against the image, feeling hot tears stinging down his face. 

Viktor had no idea just how far reaching the impact of his loss from the skating community would really be...


	2. White Nights

Detective Viktor Nikiforov was twenty-seven, and bored out of his skull. 

It had taken ages for him to recover from his accident as a teen, and the years of therapy in between endless, boring hours of school still haunted his nightmares. Even now, when the weather warmed and the white nights began, the ache in his legs still plagued him, a constant reminder of everything he lost that day. He did everything he could to find a different calling in life, going so far as to study criminal law, eventually joining the police force after just barely passing the physical requirements, and then later making detective. It had been two years since receiving that gleaming, golden shield, but it felt tarnished the moment it touched his hand. Such distractions were just not enough to keep him from hearing the call of the ice, the feel of it flying by as he glided over it forever denied to him. Viktor had not set foot on it since that fateful day, desperately trying to make the most of his pitiful life without it, but it did not keep him from living near the rink he used to call home, just within reach yet out of his grasp. 

Nothing was satisfying anymore, not even in his chosen profession. Sure, he could still surprise people; he had certainly made a reputation for himself as a detective that knew no fear, that was more than willing to throw himself into danger, never mind the yelling that waited for him when he got back to the station house. It was not enough, though; it would never be enough. Even now, when festivals would be starting and the police would be on high alert for anyone causing trouble, the only thing on his mind was it would just be another day, drifting down the river that was life until it came to its final, blissful end. 

Viktor was staring out the window near his desk, watching as festival teams were setting up decorations for the upcoming month of festivities, when the door to the station chief's office banged open. He was an older man – close to the same age dear Coach Yakov had been when he had his accident – with the temperament of an irritated moose and the perpetual scowl to match. 

"Nikiforov, Petrova, Ivashnov, Vasilek; my office!"

The door snapped closed again, entirely unwelcoming despite the barked out order. Viktor paused to glance at his partner, Irina Petrova, before his gaze slid over to the other two called out names. Neither of them seemed to know what was going on as they hesitantly pushed themselves up from their seats, allowing Viktor to come to the conclusion they weren't in serious trouble. He glanced back at Irina again, before he shrugged lightly, pulling himself out of his desk chair as well. 

The four of them crammed into the small office, having to stand shoulder to shoulder, with Ivashnov blocking the door. Their chief's desk took up the other half of the room, almost too big to be crammed in there with the filing cases full of current case documents and law references. It somehow made him look even more irritable than usual as he paced behind the desk, like a caged wild animal looking for a way out. He handed over a folder to Irina the moment the door closed behind him before continuing his pacing, though perhaps threw it at her was a better description. 

"The four of you are on festival duty as of now," the chief spat out. Vasilek let out a whine that quickly got cut off thanks to a sharp glare from the chief. "Festival authorities have contacted us about threatening notes they're receiving. Notes aren't signed, but they're all promising one thing: to take the Summer Jewel that's going to be on display during the festivities."

Irina frowned at that, flipping the folder open to see the mentioned notes. Viktor peered over her shoulder, noting they were less notes and more calling cards, decorated with an icy swirl and fine print. The text itself was cheesy, like something out of a movie. "The Summer Jewel shines so fine, I think I want to make it mine"? It was so painfully stereotypical, Viktor almost wanted to gag. 

"You four are going to be keeping an eye on that damn thing and make sure it doesn't walk off," the chief continued, before his eyes immediately snapped to Viktor. "And no doing stupid shit to make sure it stays put!"

Viktor managed to hold back the sigh that wanted to escape until they were out of his office with the door safely closed behind them. 

"Why did I have to be the one called out?" he bemoaned. Though it was a rhetorical question, Irina could not help but raise an eyebrow at him, an amused smirk tugging at her lips. 

"Because you do stupid shit," she replied, already starting off to get her coat. "Let's go, Vitya; we should get a start on this as soon as possible."

~.oOOo.~

Viktor had to give the city administration credit; they already had a fantastic security setup. In addition to the number of plays and ballet that would grace the stage of the legendary Mariinsky Theater, the lobby was set to host a gem exhibition, sporting many legendary stones from all over the world, the Summer Jewel included. Each individual gem had its own case, electronically locked with sensors peppering the stand. So much as accidentally sticking your foot past the ropes and brushing against the stand would send an alert to every security guard with the exact location. Anyone that so much as tried to get away with something would find themselves swarmed in minutes. 

Despite the excellent security, Viktor was already finding issues with the situation he was dragged into. The Summer Jewel was not the main attraction of the collection – it was not even one of the more expensive gems on display. It was the largest example of a certain kind of cut on a yellow topaz, or something that that effect – the exact details of the gem did not concern him that much. What did matter was the fact that it was set off to the side, along with similarly valued gems, all gathered around the real "star" of the exhibit. 

The Evening Star definitely lived up to its name: a sparkling diamond that shone so brilliantly it looked like a star brought down to Earth. Viktor found himself stealing glances at it from time to time, getting elbowed by Irina more than once to pay attention to what the head security guard for the exhibit was saying. That would have been a much more interesting prize than just some topaz with a pretty cut. 

Viktor hung around once the four of them were left to their own devices, taking a long look over the lobby. It was really surprising too that an exhibition like this would be staged in the Theater, where so many people would be more interested in the ballet or opera performances that would be held during festival time. Whomever owned this collection must have pulled some serious weight to get it to happen, for... what? Publicity? 

"None of this makes sense..." Viktor muttered under his breath, looking up toward the ceiling. There were not many visible entrances into the lobby; the front doors, certainly, and the doors leading to the Theater's massive stage. He spotted a vent or two as well, but nothing that a human being could fit through. It was a moment before he paused his musing, bringing his gaze back down to see that Irina was watching him, an amused smile on her face. 

"Detective's intuition kick in yet?" she asked, prompting a shrug from Viktor. 

"Does it ever turn off?" he replied, before shaking his head. "There are not many places someone could sneak in here, not without someone noticing. Two of us on the outside, one person in here and one in the main theater should be more than enough, in addition to the security they already have."

Viktor waved a dismissive hand. "With any luck, this will be a simple assignment with nothing happening."

~.oOOo.~

It felt like forever before the first day of the festival rolled around. As usual, the streets were quickly crammed with tourists and locals, enjoying the various activities to be found around, making it difficult to get anywhere by car. That did not mean Viktor was not going to stubbornly try, sitting in his car and impatiently tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he crawled his way to work that morning. They closed off the same roads every single year for this festival; why could even the locals not properly prepare for this?

He was late to work of course, Irina giving him a look when he finally collapsed behind his desk, but not saying anything. Viktor had not been able to hide his past from his partner – not that it was a hard thing to find – so she knew very well why he did not just walk or take the bus during festival days, and also why he could not even look at the department motorcycles without a gut-wrenching feeling of unease. 

"Ivashnov and Vasilek are already at the Theater," she began, almost getting a groan out of Viktor. Considering how long it took him to get to work, he should have just called in and gone to the Mariinsky directly. That would have been the smart thing to do, but when did he ever use common sense?

"Would it help if I held your hand while walking, Vitya?" she continued, and Viktor had to bite back a sigh. 

"Irina, I know you are trying to help... but no. No it wouldn't," he grumbled, pushing himself up from his desk chair.

He let Irina navigate the crowded streets to the Theater, leaving Viktor to stare out the car window and people watch. So many different faces swarming around... part of him wondered how many of them used to be fans of his. He wondered if anyone would recognize him now, after his existence had been dragged along and worn his face down, not to mention his shorter hair that set him far apart from his old self. Would anyone even say anything if they did recognize him? Or would they just whisper behind his back? "There goes Viktor Nikiforov, the man denied his calling."

He was shaken out of his gloomy thoughts when he heard the engine cut off, and he turned to see Irina looking at him expectantly. Bless her and her patience with him; he was fairly certain no one else in the department would put up with his almost childish fears and lapses into quiet thought. They may have not been the best pair of detectives, mostly due to his own shortcomings, but they worked, and that was more than Viktor could ask for. He spared her a nod, an indicator that he would be okay for this, before getting out of the vehicle. 

The Mariinsky was already packed, not that Viktor was shocked by this. It was probably loaded with people the moment the doors opened, and Viktor found himself practically wriggling through people in an effort to get inside. They saw Ivashnov first, who "happily" let them know they had managed to keep things covered, all while giving Viktor a look that mostly went ignored. He could feel the hairs bristling on the back of his neck once they split off, irritation making it hard to focus on keeping an eye on the lobby and the gems held within. Just because Irina understood and was supportive, did not mean the rest of the department was, and the reminder always managed to grate on his nerves. 

"Vitya!?"

His annoyance was suddenly shoved sharply into the back seat as his eyes widened, recognizing a voice he had not heard in over ten years. It took him a moment to recognize the owner, however, leaving his head whipping around, trying to find him until he was up next to him.

"Yakov... it's been awhile," Viktor began, having a hard time hiding the pain in his voice. It did not look like the years had treated his former coach very well, deep lines of wrinkles running all over the man's face, accenting the scar left over from the same accident that still haunted him. 

"Vitya, I didn't even know you were still in St. Petersburg," he continued, about to say more, when a rude noise cut him off. Viktor's gaze shifted over to Yakov's side, where a kid, his face half hidden under a hoodie, was standing. He was small, barely taller than Yakov, but carried himself with an air of importance, proudly wearing his Russian team jacket out in public, despite not being at a skating event. He had heard of him: Yuri Plisetsky, the next rising star of Russian figure skating – many reporters and newspapers compared the boy's success to his own and, judging from the glare he was receiving, it was something he was not thrilled about. 

"Yakov, I'm not wasting time with a washed up has-been," he growled out, tiger-printed shoes turning sharply away as he stalked off for the main theater, leaving Viktor blinking after him in utter shock at the rudeness. Yakov just let out a sigh, looking like he wanted to put his hat back on just so he could hide under it. 

"I'm sorry, Vitya; he insisted on coming so he could see his ballet instructor perform. I'm here as his guardian," he explained. "Please, though; my number is still the same. Call when you have the time."

Viktor managed a weak nod before his former coach went chasing after the young skater, a hollow feeling gnawing away at his gut. Why now? Why did he have to meet up with him again now? It just brought back bad memories and a longing he had tried so hard to fight against. He had to take several deep breaths before he could calm himself, trying desperately to put himself back into detective mode. 

The crowd was slowly starting to thin out as ballet goers filled the theater beyond, leaving the lobby mostly empty. As he suspected, very few people were actually interested in the gem exhibit, and he really could not blame them. He would have much rather be in the theater himself; seeing people move and create story and song with their bodies was infinitely more entertaining than cold rocks. 

He could hear the music start to swell inside, and an ache grasped at his chest almost immediately. He wanted to swear at himself, but it would not dispel the longing to be dancing on blades. It was a sweet melody, sincere and innocent, like a child at prayer. Viktor found his gaze drifting to the Summer Jewel for a moment, as if mentally commanding it to stay put, before peering into one of the main theater entrances. There was only one person on stage, their white costume almost resembling prayer robes to match the sweetness of the song he was dancing to, but...

...the way he  _moved_. 

Viktor felt his breath catch in his throat. If he did not know better, he would have sworn the music was being generated from the graceful movement that dipped and twirled around the stage. He did not need to understand the meaning behind the lyrics of the song, nor did he even need to hear the notes. This man's body sang it all with each little movement, and it made Viktor's heart feel like it was dancing with him. For the first time in years, he felt like he could do the same; let his twisted legs carry him through familiar motions, and in that moment, he wanted to be gliding along beside whoever belonged to that wonderful body. 

"Beautiful..." he murmured without realizing it, sad to see the opening piece end while he was still enjoying it so much. The dancer exited the stage as the performance surged into the next part, and Viktor managed to pull himself away from the door, his heart still pounding at the innocent beauty he had just witnessed. 

Reality did not quite seem to want to come back to him so soon after seeing something like that. He saw the Summer Jewel, noted that it was still in its place, and that was enough for him. Before he realized it, he felt his feet drifting in a familiar sequence: the program he had intended to use for his senior debut. It did not make him feel terrible like the mere thought of it usually did, maybe because his heart was already aching with longing. He missed the ice, missed being able to express his wants and fears with such raw, artistic abandon like the performance he just witnessed. 

He turned in sequence, only to stop dead in his tracks as he found himself staring into a pair of deep brown eyes. The owner of those eyes was hanging upside down from the ceiling, having emerged from a hidden hatch that no one had noticed. If Viktor was not so busy being caught off guard, caught trapped in the eyes he was face to face with, he might have cursed himself; a theater as old as the Mariinsky was bound to have a few hidden passages in it. His own incompetence was not important at the moment, however; the person before him was. Other than those eyes, the rest of the person's features were hidden behind a simple, almost stereotypical black mask. His outfit was all black as well, except for a cluster of glittering gemstones that gathered at his shoulder, clutching at a cape that was currently hanging freely, blocking Viktor's view of the Summer Jewel. 

Before he could get his brain working, before he could think to say something, the person's gloved hands came up, gently framing Viktor's face. His brain came to a screeching stop at that, and completely shut off when he felt a soft pair of lips on his. The unexpected kiss ended quickly enough, though the person did not move far away, warm breath tickling at the blush that was creeping onto Viktor's face. 

"Don't stop on my account, Detective Nikiforov."

The purr that escaped from the person's lips sent a shudder up Viktor's spine, making his knees wobble in a way they had not done in years. Reality snapped back as soon as the person pushed himself away, sending him stumbling back as they flipped off the rope they had been holding onto, landing with unheard of grace right before the Summer Jewel. A touch from one gloved hand had the case's security light switching from red to green as it was disabled, allowing the person to easily lift up the glass and claim their prize. 

It took that long for it to click in Viktor's head that this was probably the thief they had been on watch for. 

"H-hey!" he managed to get his voice working as the thief palmed the Jewel. Viktor started for him immediately, hand snapping out to grab their wrist, only to have the person twist themselves almost gracefully out of reach. He caught himself, moving to compensate and tackle them in the least graceful attempt at capturing a suspect ever, only to get the glass container tossed at him. Viktor fumbled to catch it, stumbling backward instead of forward as the thief put distance between them. 

"Sorry, detective. I don't have time to play today," they said, swaying their hips slightly as they turned to face him. This person... they seemed masculine, but the movements had a feminine grace to them, not practiced but so natural it was hard to place for certain what gender they fell under. It did not matter at the moment, though; with a flick of their cape, they were running straight out the front entrance to the theater. A strangled noise escaped from Viktor, and he barely had the presence of mind to set the glass down before darting after them. 

Ivashnov and Vasilek were already running after the suspect by the time he got to the door, and Viktor managed to make it to the bottom stair and onto the sidewalk before he felt the familiar feeling of panic rise in his chest. He followed the three of them with his eyes, an unsettled feeling twisting in his stomach when he saw how far out into the streets they were, and he found himself retreating back toward the stairs to calm his frantically pounding heart. He was... he was fine, this was fine; the two of them could handle one thief with no issue. That... was why they were posted at the door, after all. They could grab one man. 

~.oOOo.~

Yuri ignored the sound of Yakov barking behind him, throwing himself into the crowd that was dispersing after the ballet, and then scrambling to the backstage area. A few dancers looked at him in surprise as he sauntered past, while still others took a glance at his Russian sports team jacket and immediately recognized him for who he was. No one moved to stop him as he prowled through the backstage like an angry cat, head whipping back and forth, trying to find one dancer in particular...

He finally spotted his target's well built form, hair already shaken loose from the hair care products that kept it in place on stage. His scowl transformed into an almost happy grin, and he took a deep breath, shouting louder than necessary:

_"SENSEI! CONGRATULATIONS!!!"_

His tongue still tangled itself around the Japanese word, even after all this time under the other man's wing. It never failed to inspire a smile, and a grin spread across Yuuri Katsuki's face before he even turned toward him. 

"Thank you, Yurio."

Yuri's eyebrow twitched; the other students in his class had given him that nickname on day one, deciding it was too confusing to have both Yuri the student and Yuuri the instructor. Only Yuuri was allowed to get away with actually calling him that, but he did not have to like it. 

More importantly, however...

Yuri shot over to his ballet instructor, the annoyance dropped from his face in favor of an earnest expression. Yuuri was used to his student's sudden mood shifts by now, but the insistence was a surprise, especially when he was grabbed by the arm. Yuuri looked down at the hand on him, before turning a curious expression toward his student. 

"That first part you did – the 'Agape'; I want to use it for my senior debut," Yuri declared. "Please choreograph it for me!"

"E-eh...?" Yuuri squeaked, almost taking a step back in surprise. Yuri only stepped further into his personal space, his insistence even stronger than before. 

"Please, sensei!"

Yuuri let out a faint noise, feeling like he just got pressured into a corner he did not really know how to get out of. Of course, he knew Yuri's coach had the final say in what he did for his debut, but... he also knew Yuri would growl at poor Yakov until the man finally agreed with him. Yuuri let out a sigh after a moment, a kind smile appearing on his face as he placed a hand over his. 

"All right, I'll--"

He cut himself off, noticing Yuri's expression change, and his gaze had shifted to his other arm. An ugly, fresh bruise was forming just under the sleeve, already fairly dark. 

"Sensei—?"

Yuuri shook his head, still smiling, like it was not a big deal. 

"I smacked my arm on a stage prop on my way backstage," he explained. "It doesn't even hurt."

Yuri did not look like he believed him, but he did not comment further. That did not keep him from giving the bruise a wary eye as he let Yuuri go. The ballet instructor took the moment of silence to slip on his glasses, finally feeling more like himself now that they were in their usual place. He motioned for Yuri to follow him out, shouldering his bag with his personal items and ballet shoes inside.

"I'll choreograph, but you know your coach has the final say. Don't bully him too much, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah..."

They met up with Yakov, who had some choice words to yell at Yuri with. Yuuri stood there awkwardly as his student just yawned in response, turning and following the thinning crowd without a word. Yuuri glanced over at the boy's coach, fairly sure the man would stroke out with how frustrated he got at the young man's attitude. He was trying to think of something to say to give the older man some encouragement as they came out into the lobby and had to stop. Police were all over the gem exhibit the theater was hosting, securing part of the exhibit off and ushering people out of the theater, making people stop only to check personal effects before letting them leave. Yuuri handed over his bag for search without comment, finding his gaze passing over the officers... to a man with a familiar face and grey hair. For a moment, it looked like his heart froze in his chest as he stood there, rod straight and barely breathing.

"Is... is that...?"

He felt his bag being handed back to him, even as he heard Yuri let out an annoyed noise. 

"Who cares about a loser like him? Sensei, let's get out of here."

Yuuri hesitated, and that was the moment the detective in question turned toward him, and the world seemed to stop. He would never forget those blue eyes, always sparkling with life and excitement. They seemed dull at the moment, however, weighed down by stress and the world around him, but that only lasted for a moment. His eyes flicked over to meet his, and he paused, a faint sparkle of life coming back to them as he looked at him. Yuuri felt his heart soar up into his throat, and he could not breathe as his eyes remained locked on the other man...

_"OY! SENSEI!"_

The moment was broken by Yuri bellowing, and he forced his eyes to tear away, hurrying after his student and his coach, and missing the man he admired as a child taking a step forward to try and follow them. 


End file.
